


Sacrificial Son

by MajorPidge (ScoracleTrash), ScoracleTrash



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood Kink, Bondage, Cults, Dominance/submission, Lovecraftian Erotica, Lovecraftian tropes, M/M, Public Sex, Ritual Kink, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoracleTrash/pseuds/MajorPidge, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoracleTrash/pseuds/ScoracleTrash
Summary: Armitage Hux, a young librarian, returns home to the island community of High Harbor after being away since he was a boy. Before too long, he discovers exactly why his parents felt the need to take him to the mainland at seven years old; he was chosen at birth to be a sacrifice to the ancient creature that grants the island its prosperity and safety. Will he retreat from his destiny, or can the town’s patriarch, Enric Pryde, convince him to embrace it?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Enric Pryde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

The town was exactly as it loomed in Hux’s memory.

Everything had the green cast of an impending storm at all times, even in the sun. Everything had the smell of fresh fish and seawater. Everything had the slightest cast of decay from all the saltwater and the wind, but it all managed to stay sturdy, even attractive. 

How he had missed this place. The scrubbed, sunny seaside suburbs into which his parents had forced him had never felt like home. They begged him not to return to High Harbor, but the minute he had seen a posting for a librarian in the regional paper, he had applied. The truth was, the 34 year-old had been desperate to return to the near-desolate place, to the comfort of knowing everyone, to the sights and sounds and smells, since he was 7 years old.

He stepped off the ferry with a broad grin on his face, a bag slung over his shoulder. He filled his lungs with the almost stinging hair and adjusted his scarf against the cold, much more bitter than on the mainland. There remained only a few hours of daylight left, and he needed to meet with the caretaker of the library.

He laughed a little to himself as he walked down the street from the harbor toward the center of the town. Everyone, as all small-towners did with outsiders, was looking at him with suspicion. It was a misty afternoon and everyone was going about their business, casting sidelong glances at him. He had a suspicion that once they figured out he was coming home, rather than infiltrating, they would be more warm to him.

In fact, since word would travel quickly in such a small place, he decided to stop into the bakery.

It was empty as he entered, no one behind the counter, and so he tapped a small, tarnished silver bell to announce himself politely.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” came the voice of an old woman from the back. Hux recognized her instantly, though many more years covered her face.

“Hello, Mrs. Parker,” he said, “Any iced buns?”

She took off her glasses and wiped them on her brown apron, perching them back on her nose, “Who are you, then?” She asked, “And how do you know me?”

“A little taller than I was last time you gave me an iced bun, aren’t I?” Hux asked warmly, “I would assume you won’t give it to me for free now.” He dropped a coin on the counter.

She blinked twice, and something seemed to register, and her guarded face began to soften.

“Not little Armitage,” she said in disbelief.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“As I live and breathe!” She clapped her hands together, “Keep your damn money, it’s on the house as a welcome home present!” She scurried to the case and began to retrieve his prize, “What on earth are you doing here? The way your parents talked they were going to take you as far inland as they possibly could.”

“Never got past Plymouth,” he said, “I’m taking the librarian post.”

“Are you really? Did you study for it, then?”

He nodded as he took the bun from her, “I did. I always wanted to work in the library here. Ever since I was a boy. I never stopped hoping I might.”

“Well, we never stopped hoping you’d come home,” she smiled, “It’s not right, you know, to take a native of High Harbor off somewhere. We’re all family, here. A person needs their family.”

Hux nodded as he looked down at the bun wrapped in paper. He caught the meaning of her words perfectly. He had never felt as if his parents were his family, and he had long missed the way all the people of High Harbor were involved in the lives of children. He had heard them whisper, when he was young, that it was because his father was an outsider that he wasn’t fit. Wasn’t really family. Wasn’t safe to be left to his own devices in raising Hux. But he had thought so, and he had gone to the mainland in attempt to prove it.

And yet, here Hux was.

“Yes,” he said, “They do. Well, I have to run, Mrs. Parker, have to meet with the caretaker, but you can expect me for breakfast in the morning.”

“I’ll have something special ready,” she smiled, “Fair stars, Armitage.”

“Fair stars.” He had never forgotten the customary parting words of High Harbor citizens.

He unwrapped the bun as he continued up the hill to the square, smiling as he noticed the five-pointed star of icing that adorned all of Mrs. Parker’s buns. Five-pointed stars, nautical stars, were a talisman to the sailors and fishermen and shipbuilders of the Harbor. There were rumors the town had been started by banished witches, and that was why at the crest of one of the two great cliffs above the town stood a circle of stones with a star carved in the central one, but Hux had never found any proof of that. At least not in mainland libraries, and he had certainly looked.

The library stood in the north of the square, with the town’s clock in its tower. He raised his eyes beyond the clock to look at the cliffs, one covered in dense trees, the other crowned with the impressive mansion of the family that owned the majority of the property in town, including the shipyard and the fishery. The Queen Anne house had been rebuilt when Hux was very young; before that, it had been rather plain. The patriarch evidently had more of a taste for Victorian architecture than he did Colonial.

He wondered idly if Enric Pryde, the rather reclusive owner of the house, had ever married, or if he had merely remained a bachelor. He couldn’t imagine how old he must be now, or the riot there would be in town if he had only some distant mainland relative to leave the majority of the island to.

His reverie was broken by the door opening just as his hand reached for the handle.

“Armitage Hux,” said the middle-aged, short man who had opened it, “Pleasure to see you again.”


	2. Chapter 2

Griss was the caretaker’s name. He had been caretaker of the library, and other significant old buildings in the square, since Hux was a boy. He led the young man into the softly lit main room of the building with a pleasant expression. 

“Your references precede you,” said Griss, “As does your being a native of High Harbor. We didn’t have much hope our posting would snag one of those. No one ever leaves.”

Hux nodded, “I was thrilled to find your advertisement.”

“Obviously, you know how to be a head librarian just fine,” the older man said, “Later today, I’ll introduce you Rose. She’ll work Saturdays for you. She was working six days a week, but she’s gotten married; to my nephew, Finn, as a matter of fact, and she wanted to spend more time at home. Plus, she isn’t trained in the finer points of running a library, and neither am I. Never understood these classification systems, personally.”

“Well, I’ll have no trouble organizing things well, I promise.”

“I have no doubt. Oh, and we’ve just had a donation of some materials of local interest. Old newspapers and documents mostly, from the collections of the Pryde family. They’ll need curating.”

Hux grinned, “Oh, that sounds absolutely marevelous.”

“Thought you’d like that, coming off a stint at a research University. Anyway, here are the keys. The skeleton key opens every lock inside except the room where the unsorted materials are kept. That’s this key. And the large one opens both the front and back doors. I’ll be making my rounds, if you need help locating anything.”

“It seems well laid-out,” Hux said as he looked around, “I doubt I’ll have much trouble, but thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Griss smiled, “We’ve been waiting so long for you. To fill your post, I mean.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time, too.”

Hux had an hour before opening, and he decided both to review the procedures Griss had typed up for him and to give himself a tour of the library itself in that time. But first, always, procedures. 

Everything was, primarily, standard operating for a small-town library. Everything except the fines. 

There were none. 

Griss explained in the instructions that the Pryde family supported the library entirely, rendering fines unnecessary. Most younger citizens were prompt in returning their materials; the older, more forgetful patrons often needed a courteous phone call or two as a reminder to bring things in. But no one was ever charged, nor did they ever pay, any money for late books. 

It was a generous step on behalf of the town’s patriarch. 

Enric Pryde has always been a bit reclusive, save for special occasions, but Hux found himself hoping he could meet the library’s benefactor sometime soon, to thank him personally as the new steward of the institution. 

“Everything is Pryde’s,” his mother had told him once, “We’re all Pryde’s. Everything and everyone on this island. We’re all just taking care of it for him.”

An exaggeration, surely, but his mother hadn’t been fond of High Harbor. She had left, after all. 

Hux was absorbed in his instructions, so much so that he didn’t hear the door open, and it was with surprise that he looked up and saw another face from his childhood.

Pryde himself.

There was something metallic about the man. A strange word to use, but it was what first occurred to Hux; iron hair, steel eyes, burnished skin. Sharp features. Like a sculpture of metal.

He didn’t look a day older, but then, Hux supposed, he had remembered him looking much older than he had, because Hux himself had been a boy.

“Good morning, Mr. Pryde,” Hux said with a smile.

“So you remember me?” The man asked, returning the smile just barely, “I’m flattered.”

“Oh, no one from around here could forget you, sir.” Hux, stop it, you sound like a schoolboy. Although he is handsome.

Pryde laughed a little. “We’re so thrilled to have you back, my boy,” he held out his hand, and Hux took it to shake. His skin was surprisingly warm.

“I’m so happy to be back,” Hux said with a sigh, “Stepping off the ferry this morning was just the most wonderful feeling. This place is home. It always has been.”

“Well, we’re all thrilled you feel that way. I wanted to welcome you back personally, and extend the invitation for dinner on Wednesday. I’d love the opportunity to let my cook show off what might be a little finer than you can expect at the boarding house.”

He had trouble, for a moment, finding words. “Sir, it would be an honor. Thank you.”

“You have twenty-seven years of catching up to do, don’t you? Who better to apprise you of the ups and downs of life on the island than the one who knows all.” His eyes sparkled, and he spoke with a mystical quality to his voice that made Hux laugh.

“You always have kept things well in hand.”

“I fear it may take more than one dinner, of course,” Pryde looked at his nails, “So we might as well make Wednesday a standing appointment. You’re a skinny thing, and I imagine you eat like a horse, so I’ll take a night off of Miss Parnadee’s hands.”

Hux laughed again, “As you like it, sir.”

“I think I’ll take a look around in reference,” Pryde said with another small smile, “You don’t mind, do you? I know my way around, so you’re free to pursue your pre-opening activities.”

“Of course, sir,” the ginger nodded his head low, “Absolutely.”

“Thank you, my boy,” the man in the fine suit said, “Enjoy your first day.”

Hux watched furtively as Pryde went to the low reference shelves and puttered about for a moment before pulling out a volume and opening it, flipping through it as he moved over to a table, turned on its lamp, and sat down to peruse it more closely.

Damn, Hux thought to himself. What a gorgeous-looking man, with an equally gorgeous speaking voice. He hadn’t recalled that. He was going to have to fight quite a bit not to be awkward around him. He never imagined that a man like Pryde should take any interest in him in such a way, but, well, hope was worth holding. After all, High Harbor had always seemed immune to the dramatic bigotry of the mainland. It was one of the things he had missed the most, couples of all makeups strolling the streets unafraid.

He could be himself, here, he knew. 

He began to familiarize himself with the things behind the desk. Cards and stamps, ink and pens, forms and whatnot, all arranged in a perfectly intuitive manner. This Rose was a good librarian. 

When he looked up, Pryde had reshelved his book and departed. The man moved as silently as air.


	3. Chapter 3

Hux was locking up for his lunch break when Griss came back to introduce him to Rose. The older man left him with the young woman, who offered to take him home for lunch with her and her husband.

As they walked away from the square and toward one of the idyllic tree-lined streets of the town, she asked him, “So what do you think so far?”

“I think it might be the easiest post in the world,” he laughed, “A few people wandering in now and then, mostly aware of what they’re looking for, quiet and polite...and all glad to see me as if I had been their own child gone missing...it’s enough to give a man a big head, almost.”

She laughed a little, “I’m glad to see you too. I’ve always wanted to start a family, but I couldn’t. Not with...well, not with the library taking absolutely all my time.”

“I’m glad I could relieve you, then,” he smiled, “Griss said you married his nephew.”

“Sure did,” she said as she led him up the stairs of a white house of similar size to most places in town, “Finn and I have been sweet on each other for a long time.”

“Hey Rose! You got the new librarian with you?” A man called from the kitchen.

“Sure do,” she said, leading Hux into a tidy, scrubbed little room with a small table, where she gestured for him to sit. He did so, after shaking Finn’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Armitage,” the tall man said with a grin.

They sat down to sandwiches Finn had prepared, and began to chat pleasantly.

“I don’t always come home for lunch, but I try a couple of days a week. I’m a shipbuilder. There’s a little more flexibility than when you’re a fisherman. Safer, too. Although, you know there’s never been a shipwreck of a ship that sailed from High Harbor.”

“I’ve heard that legend, too,” Hux said, “We must have extremely skilled sailors.”

“And fair stars,” said Finn with a conspiratorial look at Rose.

She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow!” He said, “What was that about?”

“You know he wants to be the one to tell Armitage everything.”

“Hm?” Hux asked.

“Oh,” said Rose, “Well, Pryde insisted he be the one to get you up to speed on all you missed. There’s a lot of local lore we studied in school that you didn’t get because of when you left.“

“I’m glad I’ll be catching up on it,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes, “I’ve always wanted to know if there’s any truth to the rumor we were founded by witches.”

“Oh!” Finn said, “We were, and one even-“

Rose kicked Finn under the table.

“Ow.”

“I’m sure Pryde won’t mind if I’m told a couple of commonplace facts, but you’re to be commended for protecting High Harbor’s secrets,” he laughed to Rose.

Her laugh didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, “Right.”

When he returned to the library, Hux had a good twenty minutes left on his break, and so he let himself into the room with the unsorted materials.

It was a magnificent collection. Genealogical records of every family in town, it seemed like. Clippings of the local paper, including his own parents’ wedding announcement. Fragments of old books, which he picked up and examined for anything interesting.

One page was interesting indeed. 

It was numbered like a Bible, with each sentence noted in superscript starting with 1. This was apparently Chapter 13 of whatever book it was.

It was certainly like no Bible Hux had ever come across, in content.

“I will give to you safety and your sons shall prosper; your wombs and your trees bear fruit for as long as you keep my rites. In addition to the tax you pay, every quarter century you shall make a sacrifice to me of a virgin of 18 years. You will know them at birth, for to please me, they shall be born with green eyes. 

“One hundred and fifty years before the arrival of the Old Ones, a sacrifice shall be made, and what issues forth shall please me so that no other sacrifice shall be necessary again. This sacrifice shall serve as the Last Sacrifice, and in making it all who dwell upon my island shall protect their home and their descendants from the madness and carnage of the world to come; for the Father treasures his Begotten Son, and this island is his gift to him.

“Take heart in this Last Sacrifice, for it shall be made, though it be slow to ripen and to present itself.”

“Fascinating,” Hux felt himself breathe.

He suddenly had a thousand questions for Pryde. What sort of cult was this? Was it still active? Surely not, in the modern world. But had it been the source of the festivals with which he had grown up, codified hundreds of years back? And who was writing this bizarre testament?

He looked back at the paper. He had run across references to the Old Ones before, in some of the more obscure books in the library of the University where he had studied. If he recalled correctly, they were some primitive pantheon of gods known to the ancients.

Perhaps he could place a call to his old mentor at the University library about further investigation. He had never found anything about High Harbor there before, but it might’ve been because he hadn’t known what he was looking for.

Perhaps Pryde could tell him the local lore, and with the University’s help he could piece it into the larger story of these Old Ones.

But however did the worship of ancient gods find its way to such a quaint little harbor?

Hux’s dreams were colored by what he had read, though he would not remember them come morning.

He saw himself in a cave of natural stone, in the glow of an eerie green light, facing a throne carved into the cave wall in which sat something or someone whose face was in shadow.

It wore a long black robe like a man might, and seemed to wear boots as well, but its hands, all of it that he could see, were the grey of gunmetal, and its nails were claws.

“Who are you?” He asked it.

“The Begotten Son,” it replied in a voice that was strangely soothing, almost musical, smooth. Familiar.

“And what do you want from me?”

From the shadows around it came a long, black protrusion like a tentacle that snapped like a whip and curled around Hux’s throat, lifting his chin into the air.

“Everything.”


	4. Chapter 4

By Wednesday, the library was Hux’s domain, and he knew it well.

He reveled in it, in the smell of books and polished mahogany, in the soft light of lamps, in the rustle of turning pages and sorting papers. It was his passion, to preside over knowledge and make it accessible to all.

One thing that had puzzled him was that, after three o’clock, no children came to the library. He would’ve expected all the little ones in town, and in his memory there had been a great many, to come and do homework and thumb through fantastical fairy tales in the afternoons, but none appeared.

Another question for Pryde, he supposed.

And he went home to put on his finest suit before he made the trek up the cliff to the great Victorian house, steps carved carefully into the stone winding up the side.

He knocked at the door.

A young woman in the regalia of a maid answered the door and showed him in, announcing him in the parlor, where Pryde was seated at a piano and playing it beautifully. He stood as Hux was announced and turned to him, taking his hand to shake it with a grin.

“Thank you so much for coming, dear boy,” he said.

“I couldn’t possibly refuse,” said Hux, “In only three days, I have so many questions for you!”

Pryde laughed, “You were always the inquisitive type, weren’t you, Armitage?”

He blushed a little bit, “I suppose I have been, haven’t I?”

“Absolutely. It made you a natural for time at a University. I’m glad you had the opportunity to go, even if it did mean you were away for some time.”

“I am, too. It honed my investigative skills,” he gave a boyish grin, “And I am hoping to use them.”

Pryde laughed again, “All in good time, my boy, all in good time.”

“Right, of course.”

They had a seat together, the maid bringing in a tray of canapés and glasses of champagne.

“This roe is local,” Pryde gestured to the tiny black pearls atop the canapés, “I prefer it to the imported stuff. It’s funny, how quickly caviar became something fancy, as opposed to poor food. I’ve always eaten it regardless.”

“It’s divine,” said Hux after swallowing his bite, “I’ve never had the fancy kind, but I doubt it’s better than this.”

“Fresh is always better, and we’re very blessed that we can pluck the bounty of the sea right out of it and slide it onto a plate,” Pryde said, “I couldn’t have chosen a better place to spend my life if my ancestors had asked me.”

Hux leaned in conspiratorially, “Are they...are our ancestors...really witches?”

Pryde gave him a wicked grin and let him wait for a breathless instant before he said, “Oh, absolutely.”

“No!”

“Yes! I can trace my lineage back to Mercy Clapp, who with her confederates Abigail Cooper and Alice Paulson escaped trial in Plymouth and made their way to this island. When news of their escape reached others being persecuted, men and women on the fringes of Puritan society came to this place as a sanctuary. It’s why we’ve always been more...permissive in certain respects than the mainland.”

Hux sipped his champagne. It was his first. “I can scarcely believe it. That’s magnificent.”

“Isn’t it?”

“But how did they avoid just being overtaken by an angry mob, all living here?”

“Well, the island is hard to reach for those who don’t know how to sail to it, and the cliffs make it hard to invade, especially back before the harbor was fully built. And there’s always the myth of the Dweller Within.”

“The...Dweller Within?”

Pryde’s voice became a sparkling whisper, as if telling a ghost story, “Don’t you remember the stories from when you were a boy?”

Hux shook his head.

“Oh, it’s our most proud local tale. On the mainland, they claimed it was Mercy Clapp’s first son, before she married, the illegitimate son of the Devil, a monstrous thing that destroyed all the witch-hunters who dared approach his island.”

“His island?”

“Oh yes,” said Pryde, “This island belongs to him. We are merely his stewards. Almost...his pets, you might say. Our activities amuse and delight him, as do the rites he gave us to perform.”

“That’s whose voice that testament was in!”

“Oh, was there a fragment in the documents I gave you? I can loan you the entire book, if you like; I have multiple copies from over the years.”

“But they didn’t really perform,” Hux whispered, “Human sacrifices.”

Pryde just smiled enigmatically.

“Dinner is served,” the maid announced before Hux could say anything else.

“Shall we?” The grey-haired man asked.

Hux was dying to have his question answered, but he let it pass.

They sat down to a consommé with scallops, sweet scallops with firm white flesh that were the best Hux had ever tasted. 

“Does school run long on the island?”

“School?” Pryde asked.

“I just mean, well, the children never stop in the library.”

“Oh, there are no children.”

“What?”

“No children born in the last sixteen years.”

“But that’s not normal. When I was growing up, there were other children all over the place.”

“Yes, it’s normal for us to have children, but you’ll have to take it up with the Dweller.”

Hux scoffed, “You don’t really believe all that nonsense.”

Pryde’s face hardened a little.

“I understand you were brought up primarily on the mainland,” he said, “You learned the teachings of the Church instead of our ways. And you’ll be given grace for it, while you learn our beliefs. But you’ll find the people of this island take the tales of the Dweller and his testaments very seriously.”

“Mr. Pryde, be serious.”

“All I know is no children have been born in 16 years. Since the last sacrifice was due. And there is no real, rational, or scientific reason why it should be so.”

Hux folded his lips into his teeth and let them slide out again.

“Put me on it,” he said, “I promise you, with my contacts at the school, I can have an answer in three weeks.”

Pryde seemed pleased. “Very well, my boy. You can have your three weeks to do your detective work. But don’t be surprised if people are rather resistant to your mainland explanations.”

“Folk beliefs are powerful,” said Hux, “But anything to prevent a practice so barbaric as human sacrifice.”

“Yes,” Pryde nodded, “There has been enough blood spilled.”

**  
Hux was aware of his next dream for a few moments in the early morning, before he fell back to sleep.

He stood and watched as a procession made its way up the cliff to the circle of stones. The people of the town, all of them, carried candles and ritual implements, and sang together in dissonant harmony in stinging volume.

And am I born to die?  
To lay this body down?  
And must my trembling spirit fly  
Into a world unknown?

In their center stood a man in a white cloak, a wreath of evergreen around his head, walking slowly with the procession, a resolute expression on his face.

He turned to look at Hux, and Hux saw his own face on the man bound for the sacrificial rock.

He woke in a cold sweat, but fell swiftly back to sleep, and remembered nothing come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hymn is called Idumea. Idumea is a Sacred Harp hymn. Sacred Harp singing can trace its origins back to the simple shape note systems of the 1700s, designed to make it easy to teach a congregation to sing hymns.
> 
> Over time, starting in New England and spreading throughout the US and later the world, Sacred Harp developed into a volume-focused style of singing that places less emphasis on sounding good for an audience and more emphasis on being a good experience for the singers, regardless of talent. The result still gives me chills no matter how many times I listen to it.
> 
> The first verse of any song is always a rehearsal of the tune using the notes Fa, So, La, and Mi.


	5. Chapter 5

“What in the name of all that crawls under rocks are you doing?”

It was Rose, out for a walk along the western cliff of the island, where Hux found himself.

“I’m taking samples,” he said, holding up his glass vial and his tweezers.

“Samples of what?” She wrinkled her nose and asked.

“Local vegetation,” he said, “I have a theory about the sixteen-year barrenness of the women on the island,” he began to scrape some moss from the side of the rock into the vial.

“Does Pryde know you’re doing this?”

“Gave me three weeks,” he grinned, “Told me to play detective to my hearts’ content. But he warned me locals probably won’t take my answers over their belief in the Dweller Within or whatever it was.”

“‘Or whatever it was,’ Hux, this is our religion you’re talking about, here. How would you like it if someone barged into a church and started taking scrapings from the walls?”

“It would depend on what they were taking them for,” he said defensively, “Sometimes there’s a good reason to take a scraping from a building wall. I’ve taken scrapings of my own house, honestly.”

She crossed her arms, “And I suppose you’re going to send these off the island to that University you went to. Let your mainland colleagues put our lives under a microscope and laugh at our superstitions. Honestly, I’m shocked he’s letting you do this. I have half a mind to go up there and give him an earful, but…”

Hux put his things down and stood, crossing over to her. “Rose,” he took her hands, “You were my best friend growing up. If I knew I was going to offend you, I never would’ve…I just want to help make things better in my home, that’s all.”

“If you want to make things better, why don’t you go lay on that altar stone?” She asked petulantly.

“What?” He squinted his eyes.

She suddenly looked mortified and clasped her hands over her mouth, “Oh no. No. No, no. He’s going to kill me!”

“What? Who?”

“Pryde! I’m not supposed to tell you anything about-“

“About what?” He almost laughed a bit, “I don’t know why you’re so scared of him, he seems perfectly nice.”

“He is perfectly nice, unless you...Oh, Armitage, please forget you even saw me today!” She took off into the woods, and she disappeared like a deer, too light on her feet and knowledgeable of the paths for him to follow.

He sighed and returned to his exhibition. He hadn’t exactly thought his scientific curiousity through, had he? And now he had upset his friend, and she had said something cryptic indeed. He would have to ask Pryde about it on Wednesday.

He had plenty of daylight left for collecting, but he decided he needed to press on quickly with his work, if he wanted to get everything packaged up for the post on Monday.

He dreamt of the altar stone that night, stained with centuries of blood as it must be; he had never seen it before in person, truthfully. He dreamt of the dissonant singing, of himself in white and evergreen, everyone else in red, and one in black whose face he couldn’t see, seated on a throne in the circle of stones.

In the morning, he got his samples off on the ferry to the mainland with the postman, and popped into Mrs. Parker’s for another bun.

It was a pleasantly sunny morning in spite of the November chill, and he lingered outside for some time before going in to sit at his desk and pull out the book Pryde had loaned him.

The Testament of the Dweller Within was a curious book. The writer never mentioned the name of its father, speaking as though it was common knowledge who he might be. This frustrated Hux to no end, and he would have to ask Pryde about it come Wednesday.

He was halfway through the book at this point, a slender volume that was taking him some time, as he made a point to focus on its themes and words carefully, searching for any insight into this faith of his forefathers on his mother’s side.

He was not expecting Chapter 7’s contents, at all. In fact, it was incongruous to the usual trumpeting.

“When the moon is dark, oh my people, do not fear the cries that you shall hear, for it is only me, and you are in no danger.

Know your Lord only laments his loneliness, calling out to the darkness of the Void, which is his beloved grandmother, and begging her to relieve him of its chains.

For though your Lord is mighty and great, and can make the seas boil with the twitch of a finger, he is damned to suffer until the Last Years before his father’s return.

And as you pair up like winsome birds and marry in the pleasant spring when all flowers bloom, pray spare a thought for he that gives so much to you, who protects you and sees that you prosper, who sleeps alone and cold each night from birth until the Last Years.

My sorrow is as great as the chasms at the depths of the oceans, and burns like the fire of the sun.”

Hux ran his fingers over the words of the page. Whoever wrote this knew loneliness, certainly. This must’ve been their only outlet, writing as this monstrous creature with no mate, isolated and without love. It was a feeling Hux had known many times.

In fact, in part he had returned home precisely because he knew only in High Harbor could he walk alongside another man with hands clasped, and be safe from great and terrible consequences.

He cast his eye on the calendar on his desk. There would be a current almanac, in reference. He decided to check it.

The volume was dog-eared. Many were the hands that had paged through it in the course of the nearly-complete year it had been relevant. He turned to the tables in the back.

Tonight was the dark of the moon.

Well, he thought to himself, it would be a gross misstep in his investigation if he didn’t make a point to stay up and see if he heard anything.


	6. Chapter 6

Hux went home at his usual time, ate a quick dinner, and immediately slept with a view to waking up at midnight to listen for any strange noises.

As he sat up, he finished reading the Dweller’s testament. There was still nothing linking this particular cult to a name he recognized as far as the Old Ones were concerned.

He was just thinking of refilling his lamp, the light he preferred to read by in spite of the island being electrified, when he began to hear it.

It was unlike any sound he had ever heard before. For a moment, it truly raised the hair on his arms. It was mournful, ghostly, and sad to its depths. Then he laughed a little, venting his nerves, as he was certain it must simply be wind through the caves beneath the cliffs.

He had never been in the caves. They were difficult to access, and not a place for children, reachable only by a narrow, rail-less carved stair along the back of the cliffs.

It would, of course, be even more foolish to attempt the climb down in the dark.

But what a coup it would be, to find the source of such keening and moaning, and prove no such melancholy monster existed. 

He had boots sturdy enough for the climb, and a coat warm enough for the wind, and so he set out with a lantern for the crest of the cliff on which Pryde’s house stood.

He almost turned back when he looked down over the cliff’s edge. It was a dangerous precipice, wet with sea spray and narrower than he had recalled. 

He took a deep breath and pressed on. 

He steadied himself on the cliff and turned sideways, descending with slowness and care, balancing his lantern in his free hand. Every few steps came a breathless moment of slipping and nearly falling into the wild sea, into the sharp rocks below. Somehow, by the grace of whatever god ruled this place, he made it to the bottom and entered the caves. 

They were dark. At first. 

There was a clear path through them, a path large enough for a very broad and tall man. And as he followed it, he found himself rounding a corner into a large chamber, grown all over with some sort of bioluminescent lichen. 

His eyes fell upon a carved stone chair, more like a throne, and he held his forehead as his previous dreams came rushing back to his memory. He groaned as the sensation of headache began to recede. 

He looked at the throne as he recalled the Dweller Within, it’s shape, it’s voice, and more importantly, it’s words and his own. 

What do you want from me?

Everything. 

With horror he recalled the touch of the tentacle, a curiously pleasant softness and slickness that was unlike any sensation he had ever felt, amorphous and alien muscle that nonetheless was powerful and strong and seemed to be roiling beneath the surface of the black, silken, damp skin.

What in God’s name was going on?

He needed to sit down, but the superstitions of his youth and his respect for his home had him crouching on a dry patch of rock rather than risking a seat on the throne. 

And then he felt it. A presence. 

Oh, no. He must’ve fallen and hit his head, or he was running out of oxygen in the deep cavern, because when he looked up, the thing was seated on its throne. 

As if by instinct, Hux changed from crouching to bending on one knee. 

The creature snickered. 

“Ever curious, aren’t you, pet?” Asked the Dweller as a tentacle came forward to raise Hux’s head. 

Two silver eyes shone from the shadows surrounding the being’s face, grey and luminous and framed by black instead of white sclera. 

“Pet?” He asked with impertinence that surprised even him, an indignance that was clear in spite of his bile-flavored, churning terror. 

The Dweller laughed again. “You’re all my pets. But you, my boy, are very special.”

“How?”

“Why don’t you go lay on that altar stone?”

Rose’s voice echoed in Hux’s head as the creature said it. 

“What?”

A tentacle came forth, and, with surprising deftness and delicacy, brushed Hux’s hair back from his face. 

“Nothing. I wouldn’t rob the others of the spectacle.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shh,” the tentacle wrapped around Hux’s throat and pressed, just hard enough, on his choke points, “Go to sleep. You shouldn’t be here. Not without escort.”

“But I...need a scraping...of the...lichen…” was all Hux could manage before he lost consciousness. 

Hux’s dreams continued. He saw a world in utter chaos, red skies raining fire, green skies raining acid, monstrous creatures the size of skyscrapers wading through the ocean, tentacles of all colors and shapes protruding from their gelatinous bodies, heard screams of terror and agony. 

And he saw High Harbor among it all, rising from the sea, protected beneath a dome that kept her skies blue and her seas bountiful. 

The silver eyes flashed in his memory, and then, nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning, dear,” said Pryde. He was just facetious enough with it.

“What?” Hux asked groggily. He found himself sitting up in a warm and comfortable bed in an ornate room, surrounded by down on all sides.

“You know, there’s an entrance to the caves behind this house. I could’ve taken you down and given you a tour myself.”

The young man looked a little sheepish.

“I was following the noises. In the night.”

“So I surmised,” Pryde smirked.

It suddenly dawned on Hux, “There was no wind. In the caves. No noise. I couldn’t even hear the sound when I reached them.”

“You’re right. There isn’t any wind in the caves.”

“Then what makes the noise?”

A maid entered, carrying a covered tray.

“Eat first,” said Hux’s host, “Questions after breakfast. Have you ever had kedgeree? I find it shows off the island’s fish quite well.”

Hux shook his head. The maid uncovered the dish and set it on the nightstand. She bent down to retrieve a tray from beneath the bed, which she set up herself in spite of his attempts to help. She set the kedgeree on it, smiled, curtsied, and departed.

“Curtsies?” He asked as he picked up his fork.

“You’re an important person.”

“I’m a librarian.”

“Dear boy,” the older man sighed, “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

Hux was in the process of digging into his breakfast, and didn’t hear Pryde over the sounds of his own chewing. “Hmm?”

“Nothing. Enjoying it?”

He nodded and made a noise of assent.

“Good. I have an excellent cook. If she ever tries to die on me, I’ll have to ask the Dweller to make her immortal.”

Hux laughed.

When he had finished his breakfast, he asked, “Is it too late to request a proper tour of the caverns?”

Pryde smiled, “It would be my pleasure. I’m having your clothes laundered, but I have things that should fit you. There’s a good outfit for exploration on the valet stand. Do you need help dressing?”

He laughed again.

“I thought not. It can be nice, though. I’ve always wanted someone to stand close to me and help me on with my collar. And perhaps steal a kiss.”

“Have you never found anyone?”

“I thought there might be a chance, once. But that was 16 years ago.” Pryde looked out the window.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself with an old man’s heartaches. I’ll meet you in the library?”

Hux nodded. Pryde returned the gesture and gave him his privacy.

It was only upon looking down that Hux noticed his pajamas bore an embroidered family crest.

It was also inlaid on a box on the nightstand in obsidian and malachite. It was cut diagonally, with a black five-pointed star on the green side, and a green circle on the black side. The motto was in a language he had no idea how to read, but that he recognized as being similar in feature to the passages of the language of the Old Ones he had read at the University.

Curious.

In the library, he asked about it.

“Yes. Odd, isn’t it? It’s been our emblem since the time of the witches. Legend has it the Dweller bestowed it himself.”

“What does the text mean?”

“For the glory of the Gate and the Key.”

The Gate and the Key. Hux had heard that before. He needed to call his contact after they explored the caves. Or he could just ask.

“What’s the Gate and the Key?”

“The All and One and One in All,” said Pryde, “To us, God.”

“The Dweller, then.”

“The Dweller isn’t God. The Dweller is Christ.”

“Then who is God?”

“The Gate and the Key.”

Hux gave Pryde a look, “You’re a bastard.”

“Watch that tongue, or no tour.”

They both laughed.

“What a strange sort of religion you have, Mr. Pryde.”

“Please, call me Enric.”

“Enric.” It send a jolt through Hux to say it.

“And remember,” the older man said, “This religion is your birthright. We all hope you will return to it.”

“It’s hard to imagine doing so, honestly.”

“You may yet become a believer,” he said, “After all, seeing is believing.”

The stairs inside the caves that led from Pryde’s property were far easier to traverse than those down the side of the cliff.

“The path splits here. The far left grows smaller until only a rat could fit through it. The middle goes to the place you entered last night, which you’re not meant to enter unless you’ve been summoned by the Dweller himself.”

“How do you know if you’ve been summoned by the Dweller?”

“You’ll dream of the chamber.”

Hux swallowed with some difficulty.

“This last path leads to Rey.”

“Rey?”

“Our Oracle,” he explained, “People consult her for all sorts of things. Every little query that preys on their minds, great and small, and she speaks the words of the wills of those gods beyond even the Dweller in power. She’s a descendant of the third witch. Although rumor says she is the third witch, herself.”

“I thought the third witch was named Alice.”

Pryde shrugged. “I can control many things on this island, but not rumors.”

“I’d...I’d like to meet Rey.”

“Of course.”

The lichen on the walls leading to Rey’s cavern was blue, rather than the green of the Dweller’s chamber. Her abode was dark and full of mist, which billowed up in waves from a vent in the stone around the place where she sat. It was a tall rock, and she meditated with eyes closed and palms up on her knees, legs folded.

She opened her eyes when they entered, and gestured to a bench which sat before her.

She was hooded and mostly veiled, her arms wrapped in strips of cloth, her clothing flowing and girdled.

“Home again,” she said.

Hux shivered a bit. “Yes.”

“Come.”

The two men stepped forward, Hux casting a nervous glance toward Pryde and following his lead in taking a seat.

Mist shot up from the floor and Rey inhaled it deeply. She held out her hands to him. Pryde nodded in encouragement, and he hesitantly placed his palms on top of hers.

Her head shot back and her hood and veil fell. She was young and beautiful, with delicate features. When she looked back to him, her eyes were glowing the blue of the lichen, her sclera black as pitch.

“It must issue forth,” she said in a perfectly clear, calm voice.

“What?”

“It shall issue forth. The sacrifice is ripened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do not fear. Fulfill your function.”

“My function?”

“Do not fear,” she took her hands away, “Fulfill your function.”

“You’ll get nothing more,” Pryde said, “Once she repeats something, it’s over.”

Hux was visibly shaken as they climbed the stairs. There must be some… some sort of natural hallucinogenic compound in the mist, or in the lichen, or…

“People visit her on purpose?” He asked in a weak voice.

“For all sorts of things.”

“What did any of that mean?”

Pryde sighed, placing his hands in his pockets. He looked around for a moment before turning back to Hux, “There are some things you need to be told. Now,” he said, “Come with me.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hux dropped the teacup he was holding.

“WHAT?”

Pryde instantly leaned forward. “Are you alright? Did you burn yourself?”

“Hang the tea, Enric, what are you saying?”

“Honestly, Armitage, I’m rather shocked it’s taken a man as intelligent as yourself this long to figure it out. I can’t believe I’ve had to tell you.”

“I’m not- I won’t- I refuse to be a sacrifice to a non-existent pagan demigod.”

“And that’s why I haven’t told you already,” he sighed, “I wanted you to believe in it first. I thought between the dreams, the caves, and the Oracle…”

“How do you know about the dreams?”

“Every sacrifice has dreams leading up to their time.”

“But there must- there has to be- some scientific explanation for all these phenomena!”

“There may well be. But I doubt modern science is, as yet, perceptive enough to discover it. Have you uncovered a single abnormal occurrence so far that your friends can measure?”

“I need scrapings of the lichen,” Hux said insistently, “Then I’m sure…”

“Then go! Take your scrapings. They won’t give you the answers you want. Only the faith you were born into can do that.”

He sighed and gripped his teacup, “Then tell me what this faith says.”

“You are the Last Sacrifice,” Pryde said, “Your gift will secure the safety of this island and its people for all time. But you must go willingly. No sacrifice can be coerced. If you had stayed here, we would have prepared you from age 13. But it had to be this way. He wills it to be this way. His father wills it to be this way.”

“Tell me his father’s name.”

“Yog-Sothoth.”

Yog-Sothoth. The son of Azathoth, who pipes all things into existence. The spheres which hang in space, reflecting colors for which there are no mortal words. The one who controls all passage between worlds.

The Gate and the Key.

It had always seemed like poppycock to Hux. Ancient superstition, the product of primitive, fearful minds.

But then there were clearly things afoot he didn’t understand. Scientific explanation or not, he knew of no disease that caused black sclera and luminous eyes.

If it hadn’t been a hallucination.

What was real? What was imagined? How could he dream of things he had never encountered, and have them reflect his waking hours so perfectly?

What if...what if it all was true?

“So then to fulfill my function...I have to die.”

“You have to be sacrificed,” Pryde corrected.

“And there is some chance, however fantastical, that if I don’t, this all might actually be true, and I’ll be damning the descenders of all the people that matter to me to agony and madness.”

“And they would never forgive you, Armitage. You certainly wouldn’t be welcome here any longer.”

He blew air through his lips and leaned his head down into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. After a long moment, he looked up.

“What point is there in a life if I can’t live it in the only place I feel I can be myself?”

Pryde’s face was full of empathy and solemn concern, “I know how difficult this is. It’s unfair that you have such a short time to make a decision.”

“How long have I got?” Hux sounded defeated.

“The Solstice.”

“God damn it.”

“Believe me, boy, if there were any other way, I’d want you to take it. I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

He managed a smiled, “The feeling is mutual.”

Pryde placed his hand on Hux’s, “Well. You know my opinion. It’s the same as the Oracle’s. Do not fear. Fulfill your function,” he patted his hand, “But you have two weeks to think on it. Take it.”

The young man nodded, “I will.”

**

Rose found Hux where he was for most of his free time between his conversation with Pryde and the following Saturday. With the midday sun casting skeletal shadows over his face through the limbs of the naked trees, he lay on his back on the altar stone atop the cliff, thinking.

“Pryde said you’d be here,” she said, taking a seat on the stone beside him.

He looked over at her, “Were you looking for me?”

“I had a question about a query. Mr. Peavey wanted to know something about begonias, it seemed like you might know which of the gardening books it was in. And also, you know, been worried about you. You’ve been quiet all week.”

“He told me, Rose,” was all he said.

“I figured,” she placed her hand on his, “I’m sure it’s...so, so much to try and handle.”

He blew air through his lips, “I’m so…” he shifted a little, turning more fully toward her, “I’m so goddamn angry at my parents, for taking me away. I have a duty. I was born for a duty. And I could’ve grown up ready for it and marched off to it full of purpose and instead…” he closed his eyes and laid back down, “Instead I’m lying here trying to figure out if I’m selfish enough to run away and leave you all in danger of hell.”

“You’re not,” she said, “I know you’re not. At least. I hope you’re not.”

“You stuck up for me,” he said, “That day when I was six. You got between me and my father even though you were no bigger than I was and told him...what was it you said?”

“‘He isn’t yours to harm,’” she laughed, “I said it in the language of the Old Ones.”

“He was furious. I thought he was going to kill you. I was so afraid. Instead, he...he never laid a hand on me again. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“It was the first time he had been brave enough, to do it in public. It wasn’t me, you know. Pryde called him that night. He got summoned. To the Dweller’s chamber. He wouldn’t go at first, but Pryde made him. Whatever he saw there...as much as he wanted you away from here, he was too much of a coward to touch the Dweller’s chosen sacrifice again, I guess.”

“Well still, thank you,” Hux smiled, “For being stupidly brave for a six year-old. I carried that knowledge, that someone here would always stick up for me, with me my whole life. It’s part of what drew me back. I’d do anything for you.”

She looked away for a moment, then looked back to him.

“Would you make it so I could have a child?”

He closed his eyes again and drew a ragged breath, then let it out again. “Yes, Rose,” he looked her in the eye, “I would.”

“Then please do,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand, and he nodded.


	9. Chapter 9

A land of deepest shade  
Unpierced by human thought  
The dreary regions of the dead  
Where all things are forgot

Everyone in town was outside Hux’s door. 

They were singing, in their dissonant way, the song he had dreamt of, the hymn that heralded the long walk to the altar stone. 

He looked at himself in the mirror. 

He wore the long white robe he had seen himself wearing in his own mind, and his fear was getting the better of him, in spite of his directive not to fear at all. 

He stepped through the door with a sharp intake of breath. 

The people of the town wore blue robes cut like his. Rose was among them, and gave him a beaming smile. Everyone was solemn, but their jubilation was palpable. 

He bowed his head to Griss, who placed the evergreen wreath on his brow. 

Where was Pryde? He didn’t understand. Surely he should be leading this ritual. Perhaps he was already at the circle. 

Hux took his place in the middle of the crowd, and the procession began. 

Some held torches. Some held boughs of evergreen. Some held baskets of wine and bread for the others to share at the conclusion of the ritual. Pryde had taught him the order of the ceremony; he knew what to expect. 

They sang the whole way as they climbed the cliff and made their way to the circle of stones.

Good God, it was there. 

Sitting on a throne, in a black robe, face hidden, glistening grey metallic arms visible on the arms of the throne, claws long and menacing. 

He could’ve swooned as he knelt before it. Pryde had told him it would be there. But he didn’t believe it. 

This was all real. 

And where was Pryde? He had assured Hux he would be there. The young man began to panic. His breathing turned shallow and quick. He couldn’t do this without his mentor. 

Griss stood behind Hux and placed his hands on his shoulders. 

“This we offer in humility to the One who ensures our safety and prosperity; this great final Sacrifice, that it might please you and your Father and secure for us peace for all time.”

“Have you come of your own free will?” The creature asked. 

“I have, Oh Deathless One.”

“Speak your intention.”

“It is my intention to serve as Sacrifice, that what issues forth might please you and protect my people.”

“Then state your oath.”

“I, Armitage Hux, hereby,” he swallowed, his throat dry and his voice cracking, “Hereby grant my body and my soul to He Who Dwells Within. My life is at his pleasure, and I am prepared to die for him and for my people.”

Griss removed Hux’s wreath and robe, and the young man lay back on the altar stone, naked. 

“Hear me, my people,” spoke the Dweller, his voice more familiar than just a dream, “What you have brought me pleases me greatly. I accept your offering.”

The crowd silently turned their backs. 

Hux closed his eyes. He had no idea if it would be painful. He would endure the pain, if he must. He would scream, if he had to. 

He didn’t know exactly how many tentacles were beginning to coil about his body. He didn’t dare open his eyes. They wrapped around him completely, lifting him into the air and leaving him with a feeling of weightlessness, almost cradling him as they drew him toward the thing which would take his life. 

The creature removed its hood with its unoccupied hands. 

He would recognize that face anywhere, even in gunmetal grey with eyes that glowed. 

He wanted to speak, but found himself unable to, and so he merely thought, “Enric…”

“My dear, sweet boy,” said the creature in his head, it’s voice brimming with affection. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“A flair for the dramatic?”

“You’re a bastard.”

Enric chuckled. 

“Do they know?” Hux asked telepathically. 

“They all know. They’ve always known.”

“And now you’re going to kill me.”

Another laugh. 

“What?”

“My precious child, I’m not after your blood. Well, not all of it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I told you,” a strangely textured tentacle brushed across Hux’s lips, “Everything.”

“But I-“

“-Have given me your body. So relax, my darling, and let me have my fill of it.”

Hux’s lips parted in a sigh as a tentacle brushed across his nipples with an almost tender touch. 

The strangely textured tentacle slid into his open mouth, probing gently. It slipped along Hux’s tongue and expanded to fill the back of his throat, beginning to move in a thrusting motion. 

In all his wildest imaginings of how this would come to pass, he couldn’t have predicted this. He had thought about Pryde many times in his private moments, but he had never expected him to have tentacles. 

He opened his eyes. 

His body was enveloped in a mass of the strange, teeming muscle and flesh. He could scarcely see his own skin. He couldn’t move his limbs. 

The look on the creature’s face was one of pure ravenousness. Like a predator in the rapture of the kill. 

One tentacle made itself harder and thinner and wrapped itself around the base of Hux’s cock tightly. He gasped at the feel. He heard Pryde snicker inside his head. 

He noticed that some of these things had mouths. They had mouths, and they were moving across his torso, hungry, leaving marks from teeth that healed instantly. They suckled at his blood, taking small amounts, leaving him feeling slightly dizzy. One mouth wrapped around his cock and slid down to the base of it, enveloping everything and sucking in rhythmic motion. 

Nothing had ever felt so good. So this was what it was like to have the attention of a demigod. The young virgin arched his back into the touch of the eldrich limbs, groaning around the thing inside his mouth and running his tongue along its strange texture. 

A slender tentacle, slick somehow, slid inside of him and began to slowly swell. Fuck, it felt so good. He felt as if he could come then and there, but the tentacles wrapped around the base of his cock was unmoving, and kept him hanging in stasis. 

“Not yet, my sweet little pet,” said the voice in his head, “Only when I’m done with you.”

The tentacle inside him began to thrust in time with the one inside his mouth, leaving him full, then empty, then full again. The things inside him and around him pulsed, the mouths left livid bruises where they sucked at his skin, and he realized with a sense of horror that the others could hear what was happening. 

Shame filled him such as he had never felt before. Here, drunk on pleasure, in front of everyone, everyone who could hear the noises he made and the sounds of the things moving over and in him. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” Purred his tormentor, “The elders have experienced this before.”

“You fuck all your sacrifices?”

“Of course. They’re brought to me virginal. But you, my dear boy, you’re the only one I’m going to keep...forever.”

This, forever. This bliss, forever. His little library, and kedgeree in bed, and the inhuman pleasure this thing could give him, forever. 

“Yes, my love. Until my grandfather ceases his piping, and nothing exists any longer, shall you be by my side.”

It seemed like an hour or more that he lay in the embrace of the writhing grey things, penetrated and enveloped, before the tentacle at the base of his cock slackened it’s grip. 

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Hux aloud. 

“Come on, boy. Feed me. Give me every drop of you. Your soul is sweet, but now I want your come. I will it. I demand it. Fulfill your function. Consummate your sacrifice.”

He didn’t have to be told more than once. 

The mouth around him sucked every drop from him, drained him dry and left him softening and throbbing gently, whimpering in the aftermath as it pulled away. 

Then the one from deep inside his core began to shrink and pull away. 

Finally, the one inside his mouth released its own issue, strangely flavored and dark in color, onto Hux’s tongue before slipping away. The young man swallowed it as best as he could. 

Carefully the tentacles slackened and lowered him to the ground, unwrapping enough that the others, who were turning back to face him and his strange lover, could see him breathing. 

There was bewilderment on their faces. 

“I have been pleased,” Enric spoke, “So pleased I shall keep this sacrifice with me for eternity. You have done well, my people. Rejoice, for your offering has sealed your safety for all time.”

Hux lost consciousness to the sounds of joyous singing.


	10. Epilogue

Hux woke up in the groggy sort of fog that comes from sleeping perhaps a little too long. 

He recognized the comfort of the bed, the feel of the sheets, and the smell of kedgeree. 

When he sat up and opened his eyes, he saw Enric, looking perfectly human and perfectly beautiful, sitting in the chair. 

“Good morning, dear,” he said again, no hint of facetiousness in his voice now. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m still half-human,” he said, looking at his fingernails, “I don’t want to bind myself to a selfish lover. I had to know you would do anything for these people. As I would.”

Hux nodded, then laughed and shook his head, “You’re such a bastard. ‘What issues forth.’ 300-odd years, and you never once told anyone you didn’t mean blood.”

Enric grinned, “Mortals are fun to play games with.”

“And what sort of games do you want to play with me?”

“Oh, all sorts of wicked ones, my sweetest and most favorite little pet.”

Hux flushed red to his shoulders. 

“And to think, this is what my parents were so afraid of,” he looked down, “I wish I could tell my mother.”

“You can,” Enric said, “I visited her in her dreams last night. I told her you were alive and well, and she was welcome here with you.”

The young man smiled, “Thank you.”

“I should say I owe you, for ending three centuries of loneliness.”

“I can’t imagine how painful that must’ve been.”

Enric rose and came to sit on the edge of Hux’s bed, “It’s over now. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“I have so many questions.”

“And I’ll answer them all, in due time. But first, breakfast. Questions later.”

—-

On New Year’s Day, Hux waited on the docks, Pryde beside him. They stood in great black coats and tightly tied scarves against the winter wind. 

The ferry arrived on schedule, and an older woman in a plum-colored coat and hat disembarked. 

Pryde directed servants he had brought with him to retrieve her several trunks. 

“Armitage,” she sighed as she ran to him, throwing her arms around him. 

He embraced her tightly and whispered, “Hello, mother.”

She held him for a long time, refusing to let go. When she finally did, she turned to Pryde and threw herself on her knees. 

“Thank you,” she panted, weeping openly now, “Thank you so much. I’m so sorry. I should never have doubted. I should never have married him.”

“Shh,” Pryde reached down and turned her face to his, “You did only what it was willed you do. You don’t have to grovel for that.”

She sniffled into a handkerchief as she stood.

“But if you’re not dead,” she asked Hux, “What was your sacrifice?”

The young man blushed. 

“Mrs. Hux, I am pleased to inform you that there is a wedding to plan,” said Pryde. 

Her eyes widened. “You mean...you’re marrying Armitage?”

He nodded. 

“Oh, darling, how wonderful,” she kissed Hux’s cheek, “I always knew you were terribly special.”

“Now, mother, I’m just like anyone else.”

She waved her hand, “Poppycock.” She closed her eyes and smiled as she inhaled the sea air, “How I have missed this place.”

“I felt the same way when I came back,” Hux said as he offered her his arm and began to walk with her toward land, “How about an iced bun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a spectacular lot of fun, and I have every intention of expanding it to novel-length, perhaps next summer.


End file.
